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11-28-2015, 11:40 AM
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SHIDA
Listen. Ain't nothing I like more than seeing my explosions blow some shit up, (I haven't had sex yet, and so maybe one day explosions will be my second favourite thing. But for now, they're still the bomb diggity [oh snap. pun. didyouseewhatididthere]), and so seeing Sir Reginald sputtering around like a babe who just face planted into a puddle, made my heart fucking soar with glee. Like, maybe I'm actually pretty good at this? I casually let myself gloat internally as I sashay into the beast. Fuck you glow stick, I think recalling Ciceron and his fucking pedo-ass jumping out of the bushes, I am good at thi- All of a sudden the blissful ball of pride in my chest popped like the reddest pimple you ever seen. I feel a pinching down my spine and across my shoulder. It feels like there's a hoard of small critters with rocks, just slapping them together against my skin. I know I'm being bitten, but at the same time, my mind sort of can't fathom it. Like, is this motherfucker really biting me? Well. Hope you've got your shots friend, I haven't had a bath in months, so enjoy that. Nevertheless, for all my witty mental banter, outwardly I squeal and pin my ears. "The FUCK dude-" I manage before my body is tossed roughly to the side. My ungraceful limbs scramble beneath me to try and steady myself. But much to my chagrin (shut up, I know real words), I just hopelessly grope at the ground. As it turns out, maybe blue-tits was right, and I need to practice more. But honestly, there's just so much fucking sand. Anyways, the moral of the story, is that sand is fucking slippery, and regaining one's balance is hard as dick. "What are you, a girl?" I wheeze, trying to play off the fact that the wind has just been knocked out of my lungs, and that my shapely figure (shut up, round is a shape) is so out of shape, that this relatively un-athletic act of regaining my balance has actually taken a toll on my muscles. "Do you want to pull my hair too?" Like seriously. Who the fuck bites. In the back of my mind, Princess laugh/whines, and I grunt. Okay fiiiiiiiiiine. You do. But you're a dog, so it's cool. Anyways, back to this. I roll my shoulder, frowning as I crank my neck around to look at where I've been vampired. The disgust on my face would suggest that there was wads of spit dripping down, but of course there wasn't. But it did sting like a bitch. Without any warning (or at least, the time between my brain saying "hey do this" and my doing it, was pretty dark quick), I spun on my forehand. Thanks for that little genetic boost Ma. QH blood FTW. My hind legs lashed outwards, large hooves aiming for Sir Reginald's shoulder. Though given that my head was tucked downwards during my pivot, I could have been lashing out at just about any part of his body. I hoped that I hit him, and hit him hard. Show him what a real attack should be like, and not just some slobbery bullshit love bite to the shoulder. As my hooves retract back to my plump golden ass, I try to scoot forward and spin to look at him. "Come at me bro." I taunt, winking in his general direction. In my mind, I can practically feel Princess rolling his eyes at me. WC: 531 Attack: 2/3  |
